


the long con

by exquisitelymorose



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Jealousy, Love, Obession, au-ish, but plausible, these two are disastrous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exquisitelymorose/pseuds/exquisitelymorose
Summary: "She wraps her fingers firmly around her glass, feels the cool sweat along its edge and wishes desperately that it would shatter against her palm. Or that Oksana was within throwing distance. Because she’s the reason that Eve is here alone and she’s throwing her head back to laugh and stroking her fingers along this other woman’s bare shoulder like she has nothing to feel guilty for."





	the long con

The fact that she’s here at all is so fucking absurd, Eve has to laugh. 

It really makes her wonder if _she’s_ the one who’s insane. If somehow she’s completely lost her mind and rewritten history? Because surely if things had gone the way they had in her memory, Oksana wouldn’t be here. If they’d really played that game of cat and mouse, if she’d really stabbed her in a Paris apartment, if she’d honestly lured her by putting a hit out on herself, this assassin, because that is what she is, she would be nowhere near MI6. And if she was, surely it would be for something sinister, some dangerous murder-for-hire plot. 

Not a fucking holiday party?

But here they are. 

And here is Oksana. In a ridiculously lavish red dress, laughing into a champagne flute.

With her arm slung across the shoulders of some woman.

Not that Eve has noticed.

Or cares.

“This is mad,” Jess’ whisper comes from over her shoulder and when Eve turns, she notices the other woman’s eyes trained on something across the room. Oksana.

“Tell me about it.”

There’s not much more to say about it, not really. They’re closing in on a year with Oksana as part of the team. To anyone outside of them, she’s a “consultant.” A forensics expert specializing in the analysis of homicide scenes. They call her Zoya. Though she would’ve been able and likely very happy to embody a different person entirely, different name, different accent, completely fabricated background, they keep it simple. Carolyn insists on it, for ease sake and to entirely remove the risk that someone might hear the accent slip by. She also chooses the name, which Oksana openly loathes and Eve has to wonder if that’s why Carolyn was so firm with her choice. 

The two women have been engaged in what could only affectionately be termed – a power struggle. 

It’s not lost on them, how wildly unreasonable this whole situation is. But it didn’t take them all very long to realize it was even more exhausting to keep talking about it. Instead, they often find themselves in these situations. Staring across the room at an assassin who could completely decimate, with her bare hands, the man she’s talking to about fucking television. 

Only now, there is something to talk about.

Because it’s not just that Oksana is here.

It’s that she is here with her girlfriend. 

And Eve? She’s alone.

She wraps her fingers firmly around her glass, feels the cool sweat along its edge and wishes desperately that it would shatter against her palm. Or that Oksana was within throwing distance. Because she’s the reason that Eve is here alone and she’s throwing her head back to laugh and stroking her fingers along this other woman’s bare shoulder like she has nothing to feel guilty for. 

And she probably doesn’t. She is a psychopath after all. Guilt is as good as a foreign concept. 

While the truth might be that she and Niko had always had the ability to fall apart without someone’s help, Eve still blames Oksana. Not always, not to the depths of her soul. But like a person who crashes their vehicle into someone else’s body and feels angry that a bystander didn’t call an ambulance quickly enough to help. She knows she’s to blame but on a bad day, when she’s angry and exhausted, she can look at Oksana and think, “in some ways, you did this too.” Because when Niko had walked out, Oksana’s name had been on his tongue. “She is going to kill you. Even if it’s by driving you to a point that you do it yourself, she is going to kill you, Eve. And I can’t watch it anymore.”

So she looks across the room, at this woman who has barely paid her any attention for three months and wishes that she would. Eve wishes that Oksana would just kill her. At least then, it would all be worth something. 

And you know, it’s funny because at first it terrified her, the indifference. 

There’d been an adjustment, of course. Becoming colleagues had drastically changed the way they orbited each other’s worlds. But that hadn’t meant the obsession ended. In the beginning, at least. They remained on that line together, pushing, pulling, tip toeing too closely of their own accord. A perfected dance that felt like everything but rarely resulted in anything. But existing outside the world they’d crafted just for themselves changed them slowly until even Oksana seemed to be playing by an invisible set of rules that confused Eve, made her uneasy. 

There was no way that this woman, her Villanelle, was going to waltz into her world and not completely burn it to the ground in an attempt to turn it upside down. But she hadn’t.

And for a time Eve believed that was the con. Oksana was remaining silent, staying low, because she was ready to strike. But months had passed and she’d done nothing. Nothing but move on. 

Eve thinks back to a time where Niko leaving would’ve meant Oksana showing up at her door. Her separation would’ve meant evenings of tongues and teeth, of hands and mouths on explorations of what had been so carefully and so narrowly avoided. She would’ve allowed herself to be completely consumed by a blonde in a hideous black veil. 

Instead, she’d shown up to work without a ring and Oksana had shrugged.

“No more little moustache hairs in your sink.” 

She thinks she hates her the most now. Of all the things the other woman had done to her and her world, of all the things she’d made her feel, this was the one that pained Eve the most. 

“Do you think she has conversations with her about her fake feelings?” Jess’ voice breaks Eve from her thoughts and she notices that Oksana is alone with her girlfriend now. She’s smiling down at the shorter woman with what seems to be a genuine smile, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“How the fuck should I know?”

Eve misses the look of sheer confusion on Jess’ face as she stalks away and toward the bar.

She doesn’t know much about the girlfriend. Her name is Charlotte which often sounds clumsy and bulky in Oksana’s mouth. She’s younger than her, older than the assassin. She’s blonde, which might be what shocks Eve the most, and trendy. She does some sort of boring high power executive bullshit job that according to Kenny even Oksana complains about because, well she’s bored easily, but it takes up enough of her time that she stays busy, doesn’t pry too hard into Oksana’s (Or, Zoya’s) life and seems happy enough just to eat at nice restaurants, have mostly satisfying if not uninspiring sex and show up enough to help keep up the younger woman’s façade of normalcy. 

As a psychiatrist might say, she’s the means to an end. 

Which does nothing to appease the anger that is both icy and boiling as it courses through Eve’s veins, watching Charlotte thumb away a smudge of Oksana’s lipstick. Like it’s her place. Like she should have any right to touch her so freely. And without fear. 

“Another, please,” Eve breathes as she approaches the bar and shakes the glass with a solitary piece of ice clinking inside. She leans against the cool top, breathing out a sigh. 

This night is a joke. 

“And this,” Eve hears behind her like some sort of grand proclamation, “is Eve Polastri.”

Her eyes are mid roll as she turns to take in a smug Oksana and an eager looking Charlotte.

“Eve!” the younger woman exclaims, thrusting a hand forward, “Zoya has told me so much about you. It’s so lovely to meet you.”

This is not a game that Eve has the energy to play, “you too, Charlotte.” She says with the most genuine smile she can muster as she slips her hand into the other woman’s. 

“We’d love to buy you a drink,” Charlotte starts, reaching into her clutch, “after all you’ve done for Zoya, it’s the least she can do,” she adds, throwing a wink toward Oksana.

It all makes Eve want to vomit. The “we,” as if Oksana knows how to truly belong to someone or something, the wink like that’s something _her Villanelle_ would ever let anyone get away with. 

She wonders, idly, how many times Oksana has considered snapping Charlotte’s neck. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know about tha-”

“She’s right, Eve. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.” Oksana smiles, her eyes sparkle and her fingers linger over the scar that only the two of them know is there because of her.

Where does Charlotte think that scar came from? What does she believe Eve has ever done for Oksa- Zoya?

The bartender passes her a glass, Charlotte hands him a note, and the two excuse themselves. Like they really are just colleagues enjoying a cordial exchange over a holiday cocktail. 

As soon as the clock hits 8pm, Eve starts saying her goodbyes. No Niko, No Bill… No Oksana, not for her at least – it’s time for her to leave. She doesn’t wander to the corner where Charlotte is grasping Oksana’s arm, listening to Carolyn talk about something or another, before seeing herself out. 

The street is busy. They’d rented out the upstairs of a chic new lounge with an award winning chef and the entire block seems to be bustling with other holiday parties. Cabs fly past to their destinations, not bothering to spare a second glance. As if she thought she could hail one easily. 

“You’re so boring,” the O’s are elongated and sing songy and Eve doesn’t have to turn around to know who will be standing there, “its only 8pm, you know?”

She turns anyway and is surprised to find that Oksana is alone, lips pouted and eyebrows raised at her expectantly.

“You should put a coat on,” Eve finally says offhandedly, turning back to the street.

“Are you worried about me, Eve Polastri?” her tone is teasing and Eve wants to push her over.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Did you like my girlfriend?”

She sighs, “sure, Zoya.” She knows the name will make Oksana’s skin crawl.

“Great tits, right?”

At that, Eve turns roughly, “you’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Oksana throws her hands up in surrender but looks anything but guilty.

“Why are you with her?” Eve finally demands.

“Why do you care?” It’s not angry, just curious, maybe annoyed.

“Because it’s not fair, Oksana. She’s a real person, with real feelings.”

“And what am I?”

“You’re a fucking ghost.”

A sound leaves Oksana’s throat, both bitter and a laugh, “why are you so angry, huh?

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“You ar-”

“Fuck you.”

“You’re being very rude tonight, Eve. I don’t like it.” Now that was genuine. 

They both stand, staring. A silent face off that feels as if it’s happened one thousand times before. Only this time Eve isn’t scared Oksana might kill her. Not because she wouldn’t but because really, she wouldn’t care if she did. 

“Well I’m mad at you.” She’s not sure why she says it but she does and it hangs between them, an electric admission that buzzes.

Oksana takes a step forward until there’s only 5, maybe 6 feet between them.

“Why?” She expects more but the singular word is a heavy challenge. 

“Because.”

“Because why?” Another step forward.

“Niko.”

Another step forward only this time, Oksana is shaking her head.

“Fine, not just him. Everything. My whole life fell apart because of you.”

Another step. 

“And you just didn’t care, Oksana. You were here and –and I was here. And shit, you could’ve had me but you did nothing.”

Another step. The tips of their shoes are almost touching now. Eve can practically feel Oksana’s breath, a mix of champagne and mint, ghosting over her skin.

“I’m fucking mad because I did all of this, everything, in some way was for you. Even if I didn’t want to think that was true, it was. And as soon I could admit that, admit that I wanted you, you didn’t want me anymore.”

She looks up into Oksana’s eyes and is surprised. Surprised that the younger woman doesn’t look surprised by the admission. Her eyes are ablaze, pupils blown, lips parted but she looks… knowing. Eve almost ducks when she moves but Oksana’s fingers come gently to her jaw as she dips her face lower. Their lips almost brush but the blonde turns her face instead, tongue nearly darting out toward the shell of her ear as she speaks.

“Now you know how it feels, baby.”

And then, she’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm as obsessed with them as Villanelle is with Eve so give me your kudos, your comments and I'll continue with them. Doesn't take much time out of your day but completely makes mine.


End file.
